Rocking the Boat
by shirleypositive72
Summary: Dean on a cruise ship with a girl in the dark. Not exactly Hemingway or Salinger.


**A/N: Don't own SPN. I did just go on a cruise, though. Sadly, this did not happen.**

"Oh, sweet Jesus, make it stop."

"Devon, what?! What is wrong _now_?"

Maddie is pretty tired of my shit by now. I've been kinda whiney. Sea sickness will do that to a girl.

"The rocking, Maddie. Oh, God, the rocking. I'm gonna puke again."

"Think it could have been the three desserts you had at dinner?"

"Possible. Warm chocolate melting cake plus rolling seas - not a good combination."

"Dev," my best friend says with concern, "why don't you go get some air on deck. A cool breeze might help. Get out of this cramped room."

"Yeah, I think I will, " I say, getting out of the small bed and pulling on a sun dress. The very best wardrobe for a cruise. Easy on, easy off, catches the island breezes.

Maddie rolls back over as I make my out of the cabin. I don't blame her; it_is_ 4am. I wouldn't be up myself if I wasn't suffering from the world's worst case of I'm-only-sick-when-I-lie-down seasickness. Stand up, perfectly fine. Lie down, feels like I've been on a two week long bender. With tequila. And several of the worms. It's the only time I really feel the roll of the ocean. Think I'll just go stroll the deck.

The light wind moving over me is, in my mind, Poseidon breathing down the back of my neck. Warm yet sending a chill, I can almost feel a presence behind me, coming closer. I guess my lonely imagination is getting away from me. It's been a long time; I've been _alone _for a long time. Holding on to the railing, I lean over just a bit, moving into the calming breeze, wondering why all of a sudden I need a man's touch.

"If you jump, I'll have to go in after you."

The voice, that voice, what a voice. So deep and gravelly, out of place on this too bright, forcefully cheerful cruise ship. I turn to face my would-be rescuer.

Have I somehow conjured the Greek god I imagined only moments ago? No, this man is too rough, too tough, to live on isolated Olympus. Full lips, piercing green eyes, a jaw that could slice open the hull of the ship, freckles that somehow don't make him seem young; his face is mesmerising. Broad shoulders, muscles everywhere, and bowlegs. So help me, in this moment, I want to ride this guy until I have bowlegs of my own. What the hell has gotten into me?

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I finally reply, "Not jumping, but thanks for the heroic intentions."

"Not a hero, sweetheart," he says with a perfect smirk. "Just don't want the cruise delayed for a missing persons search."

We both laugh, though I'm pretty sure he means exactly what he says.

"Can't sleep?" he asks as he walks up beside me and leans back on the rail, crossing his boot-clad feet in front of him. He's not dressed at all for a cruise in his black t-shirt and jeans. "Or are you still up?" He cocks an eyebrow with that comment and I almost fall down. Holy shit.

"No, I can't sleep. Too cramped in our cabin, too much ocean rolling around me."

His eyes dart quickly to my hands, searching my ring finger, and I take the moment to indulge in a little smile while I do the same to him. No ring. I wiggle my finger a bit to emphasize the no-ringness of my own hand. And maybe also to let him know he's been caught. He looks back up to my face with a little-boy smile that might get me into a whole lot of trouble.

"You traveling with friends?"

"Just one. My best friend, Madeline. You?'

"Just my brother. I'm Dean." No handshake.

"I'm Devon," I say, and put out my hand. Shake my hand, damn it. I want to touch you.

He takes the offered hand. He's not gentle, but he doesn't squeeze, either. A man's handshake. I take a moment to hide the shivers that the thought of all of his callouses running over my skin bring to just under the surface. Shivers that I don't want him, Dean, to see. Yet.

"My pleasure."

"It could be." What in the blue hell did I just say? I'm not a blushing schoolgirl, but I don't usually play the whore, either.

Looking me up and down, head to toe, he smirks with that sinful mouth again and agrees, "I think you might be right."

What the hell? I'm on vacation, right? The point of this trip was to find adventure. Pretty sure it found me.

I move a little closer, and he lets me.

"Enjoying the cruise?" I ask, trying desperately to speak without actually asking him to take my clothes off of me. It's harder to do than I would have thought. I just can't seem to help myself.

"It's all right, I guess. The beach isn't really my style. I'd rather be in a bar _shooting _pool than listening to bad club music in a crowded one." He tips his head toward me. "Trip's getting better, though."

I smile way too big.

"What about you?" he continues after a small chuckle at my expense.

"I've loved it, mostly. Maddie and I went snorkeling on the island this morning. A bit too cheerful on board, though. Does that makes sense?"

"Uh, yeah. Too many shiny, happy people here."

"Why'd you take a cruise? Doesn't sound like something you would ever enjoy." I might be overstepping with that question, but if things go right, I'll have his tongue down my throat soon. So whatever.

"Not here by choice. Sam and I are here on business."

"Business? On a cruise?"

"Yeah, we are helping out with, uh, security," he says with a grin. Like a naughty boy only telling part of the truth, hiding the bad parts so he won't get in trouble.

"Bummer."

"No, Devon. I'm finding some fun along the way."

I want to reply with a clever quip, a sassy retort, a sexy come-on, but I can't think of a damn word in reply. He said that last line with a devilishly dangerous glint in his eye that makes my knees wobbly.

Good thing he's holding me up.

Before I can regret my silent stupor, Dean has turned on his heel and trapped me against the railing between his very obviously strong arms. Hands tight to my body he leans in steadily. I have time to refuse his advance, and the look on his face tells me clearly that he'll back off if I give the signal, but there is no way in hot, tropical hell I'm turning away from that mouth. He kisses with intent - no soft, timid testing of my willingness. I gave permission and now he's running with it.

Damn, he knows what he's doing. I knew he would.

For the first time since he first spoke to me, I am aware of the ocean moving. The heave and sigh of the water is reflected in Dean's movement against me, the slow roll pitching our bodies closer with each sway of the ship. The sound of the ocean liner cutting through the water mixes with deep breaths and long exhales. My hands run across his chest as I pull away. He groans quietly in displeasure.

"You work with security, you said?"

"Yeah?" he says incredulously, certainly wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

"So you know where all the cameras are?" I really want him to get what I mean. Please don't be dumb. Make me feel a little better about this.

"Oh. Ah, yes, I do," he says approvingly. "Care to join me in a slightly more private corner, Devon?"

"Why, yes, Dean. I would," I reply in a way I hope makes me seen coquettish instead of whorey. Fuck it. We both know what's going to happen. I wonder if I'm the only one who can't quite believe it.

He leads me away from the well-lit common area of the Lido Deck, away from the hot tubs and the pool, away from the drunk single guys scamming on underage girls, away from the bar and the lights and the god-awful dance music the DJ is obliged to play. Up one staircase then another, and we are on the highest deck. We can see everything from here.

"It's beautiful," I breathe. It truly is.

"Yeah," he says quietly, catching a flyaway strand of hair caught by the breeze and smoothing it against my head. He doesn't remove his hand, lets it rest in my hair. "And it's not televised on the closed circuit channels in the cabins." He laughs, and leans down to my mouth again. No kiss this time, not really. Just a tease, just a caress of his lips on mine.

"Nice and private," I smirk.

"More private than either of our rooms," he answers, raising that eyebrow again. It's a question.

I answer it by rising on my toes to take his mouth with mine. His hands drop to the top of my ass and mine find purchase in his short, light brown hair. Gone is any imagined romanticism I may have been fantasizing about downstairs. No Greek sea god. This isn't a moonlit rendezvous. I just want to get laid, and damn, so does he.

He walks us over to a deck chair and reclines, pulling me down onto him. I straddle his waist knees clinging, resting on what feel like truly powerful thighs. I can see his rough, delicate, strong, tired, beautiful face in the halo of light on the deck. Running my hands along his laser-cut, scruffy jaw, I tell him, "Your eyes are like the sky before a summer storm in the South."

"Shouldn't I be the one to tell you pretty things about your eyes? Devon, your eyes are two delicious pools of chocolate that Augustus Gloop would never even try to resist," he says with false grandeur, and we both laugh. He runs one hand over my ass while the other offers steadying weight at my waist.

"Stop it," I laugh one last time. "It's true, though. There's a certain green that painters never get right. Photographers never capture it in its true shade. They're gorgeous, Dean."

"You're gorgeous."

And the talking stops.

He never really undresses me. My dress stays on, though the panties have disappeared, but somehow I feel him on every inch of my body, every pore of my skin. His hands feel exactly as I'd hoped, just as I'd imagined in the fleeting moments I'd had to imagine such things. Heavy, purposeful, commanding, no room for hesitancy. The stubble on his chin, the callouses on his fingers, the lightness of his tongue all combine to make my thoughts a jumbled mess.

Soft sounds of pleasure surround us, both still somehow aware that we should not draw undue attention our way. His left hand has found the very center of me and his fingers pave the way for much greater pleasures to come. He bites my bottom lip and I am profoundly aware of the taste of whiskey though I have had none to drink. I smell a light scent of sweat, the sheen on his chest revealed when I discard his shirt. It mingles with the briny fragrance of the ocean and the hint of Coppertone that never seems to truly leave my skin. It's unique, it's odd, it's entirely perfect for the moment, telling the heady story of this opportunity offered and taken.

He removes his hand from beneath my dress and reaches into his pocket. What kind of man walks around with random condoms in his pocket? My favorite kind, I decide, while I unzip his jeans.

His cock is as hard as the rest of him. Just as well formed, just as masculinely beautiful. Inside me, he feels right. I feel confident, I feel free, I feel good. So good. I'm the one moving, my hands on his shoulders, a steady rhythm, but he's the one in control. The depth, the pace, the force - all him. His mouth becomes aggressive, licking and kissing and biting wherever he sees fit, hips meeting mine only when he's ready, hands slowly outlining the crease of my ass before grabbing hold and slamming into me with pure lustful abandon.

I have never loved the horrendous dance music bullshit blaring from every speaker on deck more than I do right now. I couldn't be quiet if I tried. And I'm not trying.

And neither is he.

"Of, fuck, Devon. Ride harder, baby," he grunts at me, in charge but not demanding. So damn hot, being ordered around by this man. Even better that I feel like he's not being a dick about it.

I follow his command and almost bounce atop him, the chair moving with us. Leaning back , I move my arms to grab his leg behind me, opening myself even further to him. Dean takes the initiative and moves a hand to rub my clit with practiced fingers, knowing exactly what I need. The orgasm hits me like a tsunami and I swear I feel the ship tilt. He follows me into the wave with a tightened grip and strangled shout.

I catch my breath, we straighten our clothes, and i wipe the sweat from my brow. I sit beside his still outstretched legs to pin up my tangled hair, and he kisses my shoulder.

"Thanks, Dean," I say quietly.

"For what? For _that_? No, Devon. Thank _you_."

"We dock tomorrow."

"Yeah. We do."

And that's it. No request for a number, no plans to meet for breakfast, no inquiries as to my hometown. It was sex. Not my usual way, and at this moment, i can't fucking believe what I've just done. It was just sex.

And, oh, what sex is was.

"Devon-" he begins. I stop him. I've come to terms.

"No regrets." I smile.

"No regrets," he nods.

His head turns like a shot when he hears his name in the near distance. We both stand as a very cute, very tall dude come loping up the stairs.

"Dean! Come on, man. Where've you been? The captain says there's a, um, situation in the, uh, place where we need to be. Sorry," the giant says, directing a slight shrug in my direction. He's not being rude, I don't think. He just has shit to do. Shit that's not my business.

Dean kisses me, lingers in the kiss.

"Bye, Devon."

"Goodbye, Dean."

And I go back to my cabin. I think I can sleep now.

"I'm so ready to get home," Maddie says matter-of-factly, rolling her luggage toward the airport shuttle after we debark. She's got a boyfriend to get to.

I smile, about to agree, when I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist. I look up and see deep green eyes, the green warning of a dangerous summer storm.

"Dean!"

"Dean?" Maddie asks, confused that I know this handsome stranger.

With a smile, he leans down to me in a suddenly familiar move and takes my breath away. The kiss is passion and porn and … promise. He slips his hand into my back pocket.

"Call me if you're ever in the Midwest." With a swipe of his thumb across my lips, he's gone, walking away to join his brother.

I reach in my pocket to find a scrap of room service menu with only a phone number written on it.

"Who the hell was _that_?" Maddie is in curiosity overload.

"No one," I say, smiling, trying the whole while to figure out the quickest route to Kansas.


End file.
